Fenders: Desire
by Solstickeflickan
Summary: A short story divided in five parts about another dimension in which Fenris and Anders embrace their hatred for each other and surrender to desire.
1. Part 1: Talk

Merrill was standing on her knees, her silhouette quavering from the wounded sounds her mouth was making.

"Why did you run? You shouldn't have run?" she lamented over the dead body of her once-was fellow clan member. Hawke silently walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"There was nothing you could have done." She inhaled and stood up, her glistening eyes hardened.

"He was more afraid of me than the varterral. Like I was some kind of monster."

"You _are_ a monster," said Fenris harshly. Merrill turned away her gaze, broken, while Hawke gave the warrior elf a stern look. Anders snapped.

"The girl just lost a friend and you tell her it was her fault? Can you not see past your hatred just once?"

"I say only the truth." Fenris looked him straight in the eyes, not an inch of sympathy in his own.

"Perhaps you should consider shutting it now and then?"

"Afraid I'll do the same to you? Still convinced you're any better than her?"

"Enough you two!" rapped Hawke at them. They merely glared at each other before following their leader out of the caves beneath Sundermount. Once back in Kirkwall, Hawke took the two aside and said to them: "If you cannot settle your differences today, I won't be having you with me on my travels. Is that understood?"

"Is this supposed to be some sort of reprimand?" asked Anders incredulously. "We're not children, you know."

"You certainly are acting like it. So, talk it out, or I won't deal with you two again." Giving them one last, hard look Hawke spun around and walked the stairs up to Hightown and his mansion. Fenris and Anders looked after him longingly, fearing the inevitable "talk" they would have to have. Fenris was the first to turn his eyes to the man he despised almost as much as his former master.

"Listen, _mage_, I don't like this any more than you do, but if it is what we have to do, then so be it. Spit it out. Give me your worst."

"How about you stop calling me that with disgust in your voice? And start seeing me and other mages as people? You know, with feelings, desires, families."

"Don't you give me that crap! You have been with Hawke as long as I have. You have seen the never ending stream of demon friendly mages: abominations and blood mages wherever we go. Even you and Merrill are guilty of it. How, with all this glaring evidence, am I supposed to look mildly upon _your_ people?"

"What harm has Merrill ever done to you? What have I? Do you not remember the uncountable number of times I have saved you from certain death? Giving you strength in the middle of battle, hindering your foes before they get the chance to overwhelm you."

"And I sincerely regret it. If I had died it would have been nothing but the way of life. The strong survive, while the weak perish and are forgotten."

"The nerve of you! I give my everything out there and you would just throw it out the window if you could. A simple "thank you" would have sufficed."

"Do you suggest I thank my master for what he did to me? These markings have certainly been a blessing at times; they freed me, gave me a future. Yet they deprived me of my past, and now I am nothing but an empty shell, a blood thirsty warrior."

"Oh, poor Fenris, with his amnesia and painful past. Forget about the innumerable amount of children who are born into this world as prisoners, outcasts, constantly being told they are the spawn of Evil. _Slaves_, just like you. How can you not see that?"

"Slaves don't get possessed by demons."

"Instead they fuel blood magic to inflict pain on others. Is this a reason to care for them any less?"

"It is not the same."

" Oh, really? I would appreciate it if you could tell me why that is."

Fenris's hand, which had been glowing since the mention of his past, relaxed. He looked at something below his shoulder. Anders grabbed his arm and yanked him hard.

"Look at me when I am talking to you!" Instinctively, Fenris pulled free, wrestling his attacker to the ground. His whole body was lit up by the lyrium, but somehow it appeared to make him only more solid and helped him in holding the mage down.

"Let me go," hissed Anders, their nose tips only inches apart.

"Do. Not. Touch. Me." Fenris's eyes burned into Anders's, letting the message sink in. He got up, not checking to see if Anders did the same.

"What is it with you and the touching anyway? Is it that the tattoos hurt, or are you simply reliving old memories?" wondered Anders with a sour note. Fenris fought hard not to lose his temper again.

"How about I show you what they can make me do, or you shut the fuck up."

"Fine." Anders muttered bitter words under his breath as he raised himself off the ground.

"We are done here," established Fenris and walked away.

"Bloody elf."


	2. Part 2: An Apology

There was something about that elf. Something about that disciplined body, those haunted eyes, that tense posture, that made him feel... something – other than anger and hatred. For all he tried Anders could not find any explanation to this. Nothing in recent events had given him any reason to feel less infuriated with his views on the world – if any it was the contrary.

So what was this feeling of anxiousness in his stomach as he knocked on the door to his decadent mansion? He was not afraid of him, did not need his approval. Why were there butterflies awakening for the first time in his midriff?

Fenris opened and let him in without a word, no doubt unwillingly. They sat down at the one table with two chairs around it, facing each other.

"Why are you here?" asked Fenris, staring intently into the bottom of the wine flask he was holding. From his slightly blurred speech Anders gathered he had been drinking for a while.

"I am here to apologise. I shouldn't have said those things to you. It was beneath me." Fenris smiled wryly at his remaining liquor.

"Are you afraid Hawke will spank you for being naughty? Want to gather some friendship points from him?"

"I decided that I want to handle this in a mature way. If you will not do the same, then that is your decision, not mine. At least I tried."

"Yes. Lovely. Now get out of my house." As he said this he put his head between his palms, nodding softly it up and down.

"How much have you been drinking?"

"Not enough, apparently."

"Oh, come on, you miserable heap. Cheer up."

"Piss off."

"You really are just pathetic."

"Today I met someone I had long since forced myself to forget. Perhaps the number one person who kept reminding me of how unimportant I was, nothing more than a tool. Because of her I could not sleep through a whole night, eat a meal without fear, for years and years, even long after I freed myself. And what did I do to her? I killed her, crushed her heart with my hand. And it felt good. For a moment I was drenched in hatred and the sweet stench of revenge. What am I? A killer. Then and now. I am no more than what she said I was." Fenris slowly swigged the remains of the wine, then threw the empty bottle against the wall.

"I am sorry for what you had to endure. I know in part how that can feel like. To be seen as an object, something to be tucked away."

"And you too were tortured both mentally and physically day in and day out?"

"Well, perhaps not to the degree you're used to, but there certainly were a fair deal of taunts from the Templars."

"Taunts? TAUNTS? You know what Hadriana said to Danarius when she first saw me after my transformation? She said, 'Can I touch it?'. She then proceeded to drag her fingers across my distorted skin, smiling when I yelped in agony. Smiling delightedly, as though she was playing with a puppy. Taunts require the speaker to actually accept its victim as a living being, somewhat of an equal. Taunts fuel your soul to get back at your attacker. Taunts are nothing but a compliment."

"Look. I didn't come here to compare my past with yours, nor discuss the similar plights of slaves and mages, so I will take my leave now. If you ever need to talk, or someone to punch, you know where to find me." Anders stood up and was about to leave. When he reached the door frame, Fenris said,

"Wait." And he turned around, finding the elf staring unseeingly at his intertwined fingers. "Thank you."


	3. Part 3: Nightly Thoughts

The faces of ghosts, monsters, swirled before his vision, some calling for him with joy and relief in their echoing voices, others with desire and fury. A light pressure was laid on his right shoulder, and he froze.

"_You cannot hide forever,_" came a tender whisper in his ear.

Fenris jumped awake, gasping for air and sweating profusely beneath the tangled sheets. His eyes stared into the darkness surrounding him, searching for unwelcome shadows. Slowly, as he forced himself to realise it had been nothing but a dream, his heart slowed its frantic rhythm and he got up.

Putting his trusty longsword on his back he went out into the starry night, finding comfort in the velvet silence. He wandered aimlessly, not really seeing the path he was taking, focusing instead on breathing the cold, raw air, listening to the distant grinding of mills and howling of wolves.

His feet stopped when he reached the confined spaces of Darktown, where the homeless lay sleeping in secluded corners, their worn faces smooth and peaceful. A stray thought reminded him of Anders, who willingly lived in this foul place in order to help the people who needed it the most. Who, despite being wanted by both Templars and Wardens, dared stay in one place to do some good.

_Why? _Fenris wondered.Why would someone willingly let a demon inside just so that he could do selfless acts? Why would he risk his life only to save a stranger's?

For a moment he felt sorry for the mage. Mislead in his beliefs, too soft for his own good, he had taken all the wrong paths. Could he really blame him? After all, he too had been fooled by a demon, manipulated to take its offer. Was Anders really so different? He continuously said he believed his demon, this Justice, to be something different: a good intentioned spirit.

But then he saw before him all the blood that magic had spilled, the tortured faces of those subjected to it, and he could not continue feeling sympathetic towards him. All mages were fools. They believed their powers were a gift, when in fact they carried the power to destruct the entire world. Behind their sad eyes rested a lust for might. The freedom they begged for was only a way for them to get it. Fenris knew better than to trust their deceitful eyes.

Even though he had been saved by magic more times than he could count, he could not forget the lasting wounds it had inflicted upon him as well. Magic was a curse, a disease that was kept at bay by the Templars, and that was why he could never accept Anders as a comrade. The only thing that kept them cooperating in battle was Hawke. Without him they would be mortal enemies. Even now, he could feel a tingling in his flesh to rip the mage's heart out, similar to the one that had led him to unhesitatingly execute Hadriana.

Yet there was something near his heart that felt heavy at the thought. Could it be that the softness of his rival had rubbed off on him? Nonsense.

He walked up the stairs to his mansion, amused by his own foolishness. He and Anders were an impossibility.


	4. Part 4: Darkspawn!

Several days had gone since last they talked. They had watched each other's backs on the battlefield, vigilant, but whenever they faced each other they quickly looked away. Hawke had been rather displeased with this, but since they fought their best and did what he told them he could not complain. At least they weren't directing their deadly blows and powerful spells at each other. That was always something.

One afternoon, travelling through a passage not far from the Wounded Coast, they encountered a group of Darkspawn. The company hacked through them easily; Hawke disappearing and reappearing in clouds of smoke, assassinating them one by one; Fenris drawing their attention to himself, slicing them in half with wide arcs from his sword; Varric sending bolts into their skulls from a comfortable distance, and Anders by his side, swinging his staff from side to side, occasionally releasing mana to maintain their advantage.

Then a roar shook the sky, and everyone's attention was directed at its source. Only one Spawn had remained for them to kill, and this one fell now from a bleeding wound it had not been able to deflect. However, panting heavily and exuding copious amounts of sweat, they watched with growing fear as a giant ogre stomped its way over to them, followed by another ten or so Darkspawn.

But Hawke, who never accepted defeat, yelled at his party, "Drink up! Let's show them who rules the surface!" And so they did. Strengthening health drinks and reviving lyrium and stamina potions filled them with hope, and when the oncoming wave hit them, they fought as hard as they had done the first.

The Spawn fell one by one, the combined efforts of Hawke and Varric making them no match. But the ogre kept going, ignoring the cuts that Fenris inflicted in its flesh, only slowed by the ice that Anders encased it in, and merely deflecting the critical hits Hawke and Varric tried to weaken it with.

It was Fenris, who took most of the blows, who was taken out first. Jumping high, the ogre landed with striking force that sent the elf flying hard into a boulder. He went unconscious immediately.

Enraged, Hawke blinded the ogre with smoke, then ran up its limbs to its head. Roaring with the beast he sunk his blades right into the back of its neck. Its brain cut off, the ogre stumbled, then fell limply to the ground. It was over.

However, Fenris wouldn't wake. Hawke ran over to him, inspecting with horror his wounds. Blood was gushing out of his ear and nose, and he appeared to have broken several bones, for he lay in an unnatural position.

"Anders, quick! Get over here!" Without a word the mage obeyed. "You have to heal him," he urged when Anders didn't act on his own.

"Why should I? If he can't get up on his own, why should I help him? It is the way of life, is it not?" Anders was looking down on Fenris's mangled body, his voice detached and emotionless.

"You will because I say so, that's why!" yelled Hawke furiously. He grabbed the healer's wrist and pulled him to his knees, so that he was sitting right next to Fenris.

"He wouldn't want it," he said.

"I don't care what he wants. Just do it! He will die if you don't do anything." Hawke's eyes burned into Anders's, but he would not meet his gaze. Instead, he bent down, close to the elf's bleeding ear, and said quietly,

"You owe me." With his remaining mana he healed his patient, and when it was done, he collapsed to the ground, sweating and shaking from the exertion.

Relieved, Hawke watched as Fenris, though groaning, stirred awake.

"How long was I out?"

"Not too long. How is your head?" inquired Hawke.

"It feels as though it has been split in half."

"Well, hopefully Anders took care of that." The elf glanced over at Anders, who still hadn't recovered from his effort to revive him.

"Here, drink this," said Varric, steadying the mage's neck with one hand and putting a vial in his hand with the other. The harsh lyrium made him cough, but gave him strength. Soon he was able to raise himself up.

Making sure Anders could see it, Hawke shot him a thankful, yet disappointed look, before turning to his whole group of followers and telling them it was time to return to Kirkwall. They had had enough adventure for today.


	5. Part 5: Confrontation

The entrance door to his mansion burst open. Light footsteps hurriedly closed the distance between the hallway and his bedroom, where he was sitting right now, trying to read the impossible characters someone had once written down.

Alarmed by this intruder, he grasped for his sword and took a defensive stance. The face that greeted him though made him lower his weapon

"Nice to see you too, Anders," he grumbled and sat down by his desk again. He was tired of their constant disputes and could not longer take him as a serious threat. Therefore he was not prepared for the punch across his jaw that forced him to the floor.

"What the hell?" He rubbed his throbbing cheek and waited for the stars to get out of his field of vision. Every inch of his body wanted to fight back, but his head was floating amongst a heavy mist.

"Come on! Fight me! I am sick of you. I refuse to waste magic on you one more time. So, either you kill me, or I kill you."

"What has gotten into you? I thought we were friends."

"Fine, you jest. That will only make it easier for me to end you." Anders grabbed his collar with both his hands and lifted him off the floor, pushing him against the wall.

"Anders, you don't want to do this. Think of all your demon friends. They will miss you." Another punch numbed out the other side of his face. He was shaken repeatedly against the wall, losing his breath and his back overflowing with pain.

Realising the danger of the situation he activated his markings, slipping out of Anders's grasp. He gasped as he went through him. Quickly, before he regained his balance, Fenris turned him towards him and stuck his hand through his chest, closing in on his heart.

"Can you feel that? If you do not calm down now I will tear it out." Anders could only yelp in pain as he surrendered. "Good." Fenris let him collapse onto the floor. He left him lying there, a broken, pathetic heap, as he put his sword back where he usually lay it: resting against the wall, right next to his bed.

"Don't look so surprised. Surely, when you stormed in here, you must have known I would have to use my own powers to defend myself." Anders still couldn't answer. "Now, I know why you're angry. You should be. Perhaps I should've thanked you earlier. I _am_ thankful for what you did. For what you have done for me in the past years. There, is that enough?"

Finally, Anders could sit up. Leaning against the wall he hung his head in his hands, not looking at Fenris.

"Forgive me. I wasn't thinking straight."

"You definitely weren't. If it weren't for the fact that you used your fists instead of your magic I would've killed you. You would've deserved it."

"You don't understand!" Anders looked up at him at last, his whole appearance dishevelled. "It's Justice. He is taking over my thoughts. I am beginning to fear I won't notice when he takes over completely."

"I thought you used to say you were both Anders. He was not one separate unit."

"That is true, but his thoughts are there. His are the selfish, revenge thirsting ones, whereas mine can see the consequences of his wants. When I saw you today, in desperate need of repair, the first thought I had was not "I must save him", but "He deserves it". When I let Justice into me my goal in life was to minimise suffering, end the plight of mages. But now, having tainted him with my own hatred, my dreams are filled with the blood of Templars. I lust to draw the entirety of Thedas into the dust, procreating chaos and destruction. I wonder if you were not right all along. That I am as dangerous as any possessed mage."

"It would gladden me that you have come to this conclusion, if it weren't for the fact that you still are an abomination."

"You should kill me."

"That wouldn't make Hawke very happy, would it?"

"You know as well as I do that upsetting him won't be half as bad as the reward of having taken out another evil from this world."

Fenris went silent. He looked down on his hands, who had taken the lives of so many mages. Why could he not kill this mage? Perhaps the most dangerous mage he had met since he left Tevinter. What made Anders so different? Sure, Hawke was their mutual friend and he would hate to hurt him, but when he was not around, what made him stay his hand? The killing had become a reflex, not something he was in full control over. The need to be safe was stronger in him than the need for friendship.

"I... can't do it," he whispered, surprised by this truth. He went back to Anders and crouched in front of him, gazing into his hazel eyes. "I don't understand it. I hate you. Every time I see you my heart is fuelled by anger. My hands ache to squish your heart between them. Yet I feel... cold when I think about it. As though you were a symbol of safety to me. I don't know..." Ashamed, Fenris looked down. He felt cursed by this attachment to the man before him, yet he could not resent it for being there.

A rough hand cupped his bruised chin and lifted it up. Anders's eyes were moist and tender, watching his reaction with apprehension. Very slowly, very gently, he drew his lips closer, until finally they met. For a moment they both were quite still, staring into each other's eyes.

Then Anders let go of his chin and embraced him fully, grasping the back of his hair and pressing him even closer. Fenris closed his eyes and tasted the smoothness of his lips as they moved across his own, the warmth of his tongue as it met his. Their hands moved across each other's bodies, pulling away the cloth that trapped the skin beneath.

The heat from their nakedness engulfed them, forced them even closer together in the desolate room.

It was on the broken bed in there that they explored each other closely for the first time. That Anders saw the magnitude of the markings that covered Fenris, of the old, hidden scars that he never showed anyone. That Fenris saw the vulnerability of Anders's soft flesh, how easily it was indentured by his fingertips. Where Fenris fully let his guard down and let another body get close to his. Where Anders could leave his worries behind, forget about Justice and the blood on his hands.

It was in this bed that they learned the true power of desire.


End file.
